


How To Fall (And Maybe Fly)

by SapphyreLily



Series: Iwaizumi Week 2016 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi Week Day 4 - Insecurities</p><p>Falling isn't so difficult - all you have to do is keep your head down and let the darkness draw you in.<br/>(But if you want to fly, you have to look up - up into the light so you can see where you're going.)</p><p>Or: Iwaizumi Has A Lot More Demons Than His Calm Exterior Will Ever Show</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Fall (And Maybe Fly)

**Author's Note:**

> Implied IwaOiMatsuHana because I love the Seijou third years. If you squint _really_ hard, you can find it.

Iwaizumi was usually a placid, easy-going guy. Not much upset him, and he was confident in his own abilities, limits and boundaries.

Well, that’s what he wanted everyone to think.

The _real_ Iwaizumi was more complicated.

x.x.x.x.x

“Iwa-chan!”

He ran for the toss, jumped and slammed it down. Exchanged a high-five with Oikawa before walking to the back of the line to try again. His shoulders were pulled back and he walked purposefully, not a beat out of place. Yet inside, he was already fretting.

_I jumped too early for that one. Did Oikawa notice? The ball didn’t slot nicely into my palm; I hit it with my fingertips. I might have strained my arm from hitting too hard and not connecting right. What if I get benched?_

“Oi, Iwaizumi. Your face will freeze that way if you keep frowning so hard.”

He immediately let his muscles slacken, tilting his head back to eye Matsukawa. “Says the guy who looks perpetually sleepy.”

“It’s not my fault my eyebrows are this way!”

“Must be Hanamaki’s, then. Maybe he donated some of his eyebrows to you.”

“More like all.” Matsukawa mourned. He twisted around to look for their teammate. “Oi, Makki! Can I return your eyebrow donation? Iwaizumi's being snappy about it again.”

The strawberry blond snickered loudly. “Naw, keep them. They give your face character.”

“Oh, so I’m too plain without them?”

“That’s what I said.”

Iwaizumi tuned out their banter, focusing on the queue and how it was almost his turn to spike again. He picked up a ball and waited as Kunimi finished his turn.

He made eye contact with Oikawa and nodded briefly before tossing the ball to him. Following the ball’s trajectory with his eyes, he ran forward and jumped.

 _Shit._ He’d miscalculated, and the ball was too far from his dominant hand. His left arm immediately came up to hit it instead, but the force behind it was weak, and it hit the court way off its usual path and with a lot less impact than he intended.

He landed too close to the net and cursed quietly.

“My bad! Bad toss!” Oikawa called. Iwaizumi turned to slap his outstretched hand.

“Don’t mind.” _You’ll get the next one._

He wasn’t sure if that thought was meant for himself or Oikawa.

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi frowned at the equation, turning to flip to the textbook example. He compared the two and scribbled out the working, murmuring to himself to make sense of it. Across from him was Oikawa, lying on his back tossing a volleyball, his homework already done and stacked neatly.

“Iwa-chan, are you done yet? I want to watch a movie.”

“My laptop is over there, help yourself.” He scrubbed out a line of formulae; it didn’t make any sense.

Oikawa dropped the ball and crawled over. He dropped his head on the table and whined, “But it’s no fun to watch alone.”

“Then come here and teach me how to do this, and we’ll both be free.”

“Don’t wanna.” He came over anyway, propping his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and eyeing the paper. “Oh, this one’s easy.” He snatched the pencil from Iwaizumi’s hand and started writing. “See, you do this and this…”

Ten minutes later, they were done and curled up under the blankets with the lights down and the opening credits of yet another alien film playing.

The darkness was a great place to breed nasty thoughts. Curled up next to the warmth of his best friend, they attacked Iwaizumi relentlessly.

 _I’m in a college prep class, and yet I couldn’t do a_ simple _question. As if I needed another thing that set Oikawa in front of me._

_Stupid smartass. How could someone be allowed to be smart, good-looking and talented at sports? Why would god allow this guy to be my childhood friend? So that I can grow up and shrink in the light of his presence?_

_I feel so insignificant and unaccomplished._

“Iwa-chan, it’s starting.”

“I have eyes, Trashykawa, I can see that.”

“Meanie!”

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi turned off the stove, sighing at the sorry, bland mess that was dinner. _At least it’s edible. I hope._

He flipped the omurice onto a plate and drizzled ketchup on it before setting it on the table and calling his guest in. Kageyama approached the kitchen slowly, his eyes darting about like a trapped animal’s.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Oikawa isn’t going to randomly appear to torment you. He’s at Matsukawa’s house.”

“Oh.” The blue-eyed boy seemed more cheerful after that, picking up his chopsticks and briefly muttering his thanks before digging in. Iwaizumi followed his example, wrinkling his nose at the tastelessness of the egg.

_Maybe I should have added some salt. Or herbs._

“This tastes wonderful, Iwaizumi-senpai.”

“Nah, it’s too tasteless. I’m glad you like it though.”

“Ich berry goof.” Kageyama looked like a squirrel, his cheeks were so stuffed. Iwaizumi had to laugh at the sight.

“Thank you. Here, water. Don’t eat so fast, you’ll choke.”

x.x.x.x.x

Night time was the worst part of the day, when he was alone in his room and the thoughts were a black cloud bogging him down. When it was usually just him and his unfinished homework, with his phone lighting up occasionally with a text from their group chat.

Sometimes he would feel amused enough to send a response, or even make a funny comment of his own.

Well, _he_ thought it was funny. The others just ignored him. His message became yet another spam, lost in the bowels of the chat.

Or when they deigned to reply, it was with a simple _lol_ or _rofl_ and then they would be trundling on again, spamming memes and bad jokes and sometimes, _sometimes_ …

Iwaizumi wondered if they liked having him in the chat at all.

They never seemed to appreciate any comment he made, after all. And wasn’t the point of a group chat so that everyone could have equal input, and equal response?

Maybe it was just him, with his ideals of equality, with his hope that he wouldn’t get left behind.

But who was he kidding. He wasn’t tech-savvy enough or intelligent enough to get their jokes or to program something cute or hilarious to appear on the screen. His input was obviously not appreciated, since they hardly responded to him.

Perhaps… Perhaps they would be happier if they didn’t have him in the chat. All he seemed to do was nag at them to _remember your kneepads_ , _have you done your homework, ENOUGH CREAM PUFFS MAKKI, Shittykawa I can_ see _the light in your bedroom, go to sleep NOW_ and, and…

Sigh.

He really was pathetic, wasn’t he.

If any of the three caught him having such thoughts, they’d probably dunk his brain in lye until the darkness was scrubbed out.

 ** _Then again_** , his brain helpfully supplied, **_they’d have to_** _read **your messages before they could take action.**_

Ah, that’s right. He almost forgot. Nobody _read_ his messages.

God, he was such a cliché. And a hypocrite. What he _really_ needed was to go to sleep. Maybe the thoughts would leave on their own.

He tossed and turned in bed, craving relief, but all he could hold on to was the throbbing, cutting knowledge that nobody wanted him around, and that was okay, because as long as they were happy and healthy, he was fine. Perfectly fine. All he was good for was a reminder booklet and the second mom that they didn’t need, anyway.

Ugh.

Night time really was the best time for lousy thoughts.

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi sat on the pavement, panting hard after his run. His shoes sunk into the sand, and the sound of waves calmed his itchy thoughts. He had hoped that running would take some of the edge off, would remove some of the darkness staining his heart, but it seemed that the alone time only helped it grow into a big, ugly thing. As if it wasn’t monstrous enough.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but his breathing was back to normal, and his body was beginning to cool down.

He stood up.

Quickly removing his socks and shoes, he tucked them under a tree and approached the water, the sand shifting under his unsteady feet. Whatever his subconscious was thinking, it certainly wasn’t suicide.

Or was it?

The water lapped at his toes, cool and teasing, drawing him deeper until it came up to under the line of his shorts. The effect was numbing so early in the day, but he found he didn’t mind. _Cold_ was a sensation, and sensation was one of the few things he had left that was definite and sure. _Emotions_ and _feelings,_ on the other hand…

Those he was sure he could do without.

He looked out over the water. The sun was just coming up, its rays blinding as they reflected off the silent horizon of silver. The rippling surface was oddly calming, and he found himself lulled into a sort of peace by it.

His legs were numb by the time he left the water, but he was proud to not have succumbed to the siren call.

Drowning was a painful way to die, after all.

x.x.x.x.x

Sometimes, Iwaizumi wondered what it would be like to be a cutter.

He also knew that the scars would be too obvious, and too painful for volleyball, so he didn’t.

He still wondered.

Sometimes, he dragged a fingernail across his wrist, across the skin that hid the joints. If he cut here, cut deeply enough to sever the arteries and veins and tendons, cut deeply enough to show the glistening white of bone, he wouldn’t be able to write again. Wouldn’t be able to feed himself, or shower or do anything independently.

He’d never play volleyball again.

The thought was adverse, but not hopelessly so. If he died from blood loss, he never _would_ have to play volleyball again, anyway.

He’d be burning in hell for committing suicide.

Nah, maybe he’d sacrifice himself while saving a kid from an accident or something. Then at least he’d die a hero and people would remember him for a while.

_Memories are like tidal waves, sweeping away all traces once it’s convenient to forget._

x.x.x.x.x

His chance came sooner than he thought.

They were walking to his house, having agreed on its location since it was the largest, yet the most empty. His parents were out of the country yet again, and his pet goldfish had died several summers ago. He never thought to replace it.

They were talking, laughing, and even Iwaizumi would crack a smile every now and then. It was a perfectly normal night.

Until it wasn’t.

The van came out of nowhere. They were approaching a blind corner, walking in the middle of the road as was their wont. It was the barest glimpse of light that had Iwaizumi telling them to keep to the left, shoving Matsukawa and Hanamaki off to the side, but Oikawa was still dancing in the middle, uncaring.

The van screeched around the corner, and he thought he would be too late.

He thought he called for his idiot best friend, thought he pushed him aside just in time, thought he saw him stumble and roll away. Then a blinding pain blazed down his left side, there was the feeling of flying, and then the _crack_ of his head on the pavement.

White hot sensation ran over his right arm and he might have screamed as he felt the bone snap, as he felt the van go over him, its hot underbelly scorching his face.

He screamed again when it reversed over his left leg, and he felt the heaviness of the van, the monstrous weight of it as it stumbled over his thigh like a hump in the road.

He didn’t remember much after that.

x.x.x.x.x

White. Fluffy white clouds, with rays of light piercing through, pink and gold and orange, like the views he used to photograph with his lousy phone camera.

Weightlessness. He couldn’t feel any pain, not the throbbing bruise from a receive timed right, not the sharp nick where he had cut himself shaving, and definitely not the slow, consuming burn that ate away at his self-worth and left a gaping hole in his heart.

He sat up.

A deep voice tickled his ear, but when he looked around, there was no one. He listened to the voice.

**Honourable, foolish child.**

“I’m sorry.”

 **You ought to be, Hajime. I knew what you were thinking, but you are brave and foolish to have carried it through**.

“Did I save him? Please. That’s all I need to know.” He begged so piteously, it didn’t sound like him at all.

**Yes. Tooru is fine.**

He sagged in relief.

**You, however, are not.**

He chuckled weakly. “If I am in heaven, I suppose I must be very dead.”

**You got your wish.**

“Suicide while saving your best friend kind of cancels itself out, doesn’t it?”

The voice was disapproving. **Yes, but you should have done it selflessly.**

“I did! I almost forgot my end goal. My first priority is making sure he’s safe.”

**As it has been all these years.**

“Am I allowed to stay, then?”

**That’s up to you. Your physical body is weak.**

A panel in the clouds opened up, showing him the wrecked image of himself, swaddled in bandages and casts, with a lanky body tucked in at his side. Two more bodies lounged in chairs nearby, folded into each other, their faces pale and withdrawn.

“They look terrible.”

**So do you.**

“I never realised I have this effect on them.”

**No, child. You never did.**

“It would be painful if I returned, wouldn’t it?”

**Yes. The kind option would be to take you off life support. It is draining their money to keep you alive.**

Iwaizumi felt his face twist, a sad mockery of his usual sneer when his thoughts took this road. “My parents wouldn’t pay.”

The voice was heavy and sad. **No.**

Iwaizumi buried his face in his hands.

“If… If I went back, would it make my friends happy? Even though they wouldn’t be able to pay?”

**They are working on a solution. Your team is raising money as we speak.**

“But I would never play volleyball again. I would spiral into depression even if I recovered. I would eventually take my life, probably the same way, to avoid them knowing the truth.”

**Tooru hacked into the hidden document on your phone.**

“My phone wasn’t destroyed in the crash?”

**Takahiro salvaged it.**

Iwaizumi sighed. “So now they know.” He looked up, where he thought the entity's face might be. “What would you advise?”

**I gave you free will, Hajime. It is your choice.**

He thought about it. “They would recover, and live on without me, wouldn’t they?”

 **I cannot say. Free will,** it reminded.

Iwaizumi nodded blankly.

He watched his friends in their slumbering grief, watched Oikawa curl up against his broken body and nuzzle into his neck. His heart ached for them. For the barest love they showed him, but that was more than his parents ever did.

“I need to think about it.”

**Take all the time you need. But beware, your body is breaking, and their money runs out.**

Iwaizumi’s voice held the weight of twenty lives.

“I know.”

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa felt someone stir beside him, heard the heart rate monitor pick up slightly. The arm he had snuggled under moved, and a long groan was drawn out. Slow, thick fingers carded through his hair, kneading his scalp just the way he liked it. He squeezed closer to Iwaizumi’s battered body, drinking in the scent of him that was diluted by hospital antiseptic.

“Tooru.” His name was impossibly soft on a dry throat, and he willed himself to keep dreaming.

“ _Tooru._ ”

His eyes flashed open.

“Iwa…chan?”

His best friend grinned weakly at him.

He let out a cry of pure jubilation, throwing his arms over his broken ribs and squeezing tightly. Iwaizumi wheezed, pain in his voice.

Oikawa drew back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot…”

Iwaizumi laughed weakly. “Water. Forgive you.”

He grabbed the glass and fed him in sips with the straw. When his throat was wet enough, Iwaizumi cleared it. “Mattsun? Makki?”

“They’re fine.” Tears pricked Oikawa’s eyes, and he dropped his head, fisting his hands in the blanket. The guilt swept over him again, the image of his best friend battered and bloody and pinned under the van following it. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“Don’t be.” His cold hand covered his own, squeezing slightly. “Glad you’re alive.”

“But you're half-dead.”

“You… First priority.”

The tears spilled over onto his cheeks.

Iwaizumi patted his hand, then settled for squeezing it tightly. “How bad?”

Oikawa rattled off the facts on autopilot. “Broken right arm, two left ribs, and left femur. Punctured lung, bruised organs, possible brain bleeding.” He looked at Iwaizumi, his eyes red and swollen. “We couldn’t afford a PET scan.”

Iwaizumi simply squeezed his hand.

The sound of the door opening made them look over, and the duo at the door nearly dropped their coffee.

“Iwaizumi.”

“Oh my god!”

They rushed forward, throwing everyone into a group hug, and though Iwaizumi hurt all over, he laughed into their embraces.

_Tick, tick, tick._

They drew back, and Iwaizumi smiled at them, tears in his eyes. “My ribs hurt, you assholes.”

Then they were laughing and crying, and all was right with them.

Iwaizumi reached for Matsukawa first. “Come here. I need to tell you something.”

The tallest of them bent. Iwaizumi placed his lips next to his ear, whispering. “Take care of them. You’re the most sensible after me.” Then he pressed a kiss to his cheek and pushed him away.

“Makki.”

The strawberry blond bent, even while Matsukawa looked confused. “You can cook. Keep them alive. And _do the laundry_.” He picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Tooru.”

The brunet snuggled closer, oblivious to the confused murmurs of the other two. “You’re the smartest of all of us. Use your head, not your heart. Don’t overwork yourself.” He kissed his forehead.

 Iwaizumi pulled back and looked them all in the eye individually. “I used to think I was the most useless of the four of us. Now I know how much you care. Thank you.”

“Iwaizumi…?”

“What are you talking about? What was _that_?”

“Hajime… Hajime, no, please!”

Iwaizumi smiled at them, even as black spots took over his vision. He could hear the heart rate monitor slowing. “I love you all. Please, survive. For me.”

The monitor went dead.

x.x.x.x.x

“Thank you for letting me go back.”

**It was your choice.**

“It was kind and cruel to them. I hope they listen to me, one last time.”

**You can watch them. Whenever you feel like it, come to me and ask.**

Iwaizumi spared one last look at the cloud screen, at the images of his friends crying over his unresponsive, dead body. He wondered if they would find that though his brain was bleeding and ruptured, his heart was made whole again.

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whee I wrote angst =w=b 
> 
> Can you imagine the irony? I killed my favourite character on my birthday. Go me.


End file.
